Intrepid

I followed them into the empty bedroom, stood with Oliver behind me blocking the door while the other man went for a bedside lamp. He flicked it on, illuminating the room a little more warmly than I might have feared. The activities in this house were such that you might expect only the dingiest kind of light, the barest of rooms.

But then, it’s not your middle-class types who throw Wednesday night sex parties with well over a dozen invites, is it?

I was still glad this room wasn’t palatial, though. After all, I was no queen here, no mistress of the manor. I came looking for a dirty fuck, but I came in the state of mind where, if anybody had asked me, I would have denied it.

I would even deny it now, if these guys bothered to ask. But they won’t.

They had watched, downstairs, when I arrived. The mistress of the house, Alice, made a good show of ordering me to strip.

It’s not as if I arrived dressed like a housewife, either. The trench coat I wore against the drizzle concealed a tight black blouse, a confining little black pencil skirt, NSFW really, unless you have some colorful fantasies about office life. Ditto the stockings, the sharp four-inch patent heels.

All the same, Alice has her own ideas about appropriate attire. They do not suit me, these ideas. I am not an intrepid girl. Yet Alice says that doesn't matter, she knows what is best. “If I say you are an intrepid girl,” she says, with frightening assurance, “then that is what you are, Audrey dear. What you are and shall be.”

So now here I was, with a semi-stranger and one total stranger, wearing a black vinyl bra with my erect nipples poking through a pair of holes. Black vinyl hotpants with a zipper running front to back. A studded black collar around my throat. I got to keep the shoes.

Oliver is starting to fondle with that zipper in the back already.

“You want little Audrey here up on the bed?” Oliver growls. The other man signals with his fingers, a gesture almost dismissive except it’s telling me to move forward.

He’s unleashing his cock from his fly as I spring onto the bed. I’m not a mind reader, but I guess I know something to do with that thing. I position myself on top of the sheets on all fours and snake my head towards his meat. I guess he approves, he swivels to meet it.

It‘s good and hard already, tawny looking in this light. His man musk is powerful, a bit rank and sweaty, I like it. The skin is velvet soft, I enjoy its dryness with a few gentle laps of the tongue around its sides. I feel the wiry hairs flick against my chin. He’s going commando tonight. Good boy.

I feel Oliver’s hands going to my thighs as I open up my mouth to really take the stranger in. I’m too horny to be wasting his time. My body feels so nice and tight in my slave wear. I lift a hand to tweak at an exposed nipple for a moment as I let my mouth sink over this tasty stranger’s shaft. I get my hand back down so I can support myself, working my lips back up the cockstem. I let the head pop out with a naughty slurp and look up into his eyes, smiling. I love attention. He looks pleased so I part my lips and tongue around his cockhead in smooth soft circles, then let it slide back in.

Oliver is massaging the back of my thighs, but I know he can’t resist that zipper for long. He always has deep pockets, that Oliver. I know he’ll have a bottle of lube in there, as always.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs encouragingly. “Baby gotta get her some cock tonight? Baby gotta show off tonight?” he says, his mind drifting with the tide of lustful emotion. He knows how hard I try to resist, how much I really want to stay good. To get away from all the people like him, to snatch my life back from the people who are too intent on showing me things, showing me off, showing my body how to get the better of my mind and my heart.

Oh Jamie I never wanted to be this way. I never--

But my tightly clad ass, writhing now back and forth in the shiny vinyl as I suck this stranger off so eagerly, will be irresistible to him. Just as I’m helpless not to show it off, he’s helpless not to fuck it. He starts to pry my thighs apart, the gusset nipping at my pussy. I know he’s about to peel my ass open like a fruit.

I let my mouth noisily pop and slurp on that cock when Oliver catches the beckoning zipper in his fingers. He unzips it slow. I like to add to the porno soundtrack ambience of it all. The fuck-sounds, like a degraded symphony. Poor degraded me in the middle, getting played.

He unzips it till my ass crack is completely bare. The tightness of the vinyl doesn’t let much of my butt spill out, I’m just like two slivers of ivory melon back there, a melon with a dry winking hole in its center, a hole that wants to be filled.

I try to still my ass to give him an easy target, while I tease the cock in front of me with tentative little flicks of my tongue. I don’t try to look behind me; the sense of touch, and my anguished memories of the times before, let me know too well what he’s going to do.

The slick finger touches home, right on the pucker of my anus. A cool viscous gel. It’s like E.T. with the healing touch. I keep my ass crack shaved bare, just like Alice instructs. “Fag ass,” she calls it. She likes to call me her boy when she takes me back there herself. A many-sided woman, Alice.

But I’m all woman to Oliver. My luck. The luck of servitude.

I try to keep still as he smoothes the gel around with very slow, tight little strokes. But I can’t help tipping my ass backwards, just a little bit, and then my anus welcomes in the tip of his finger. I hear him coo encouragingly, the silly thing. He thrusts in with the finger, not gently, but by now he doesn’t need to be. He strokes around inside. My cunt’s getting all plastered to the vinyl in front. I take my mouth away from the stranger and rest my head against the pillow, thrusting my ass around, feeling my nipples scratch against the bed sheets, my hand holding on to the base of the stranger’s cock as I start to wank it.

“Put it inside me, please baby?” I cry.

“Put what inside,” Oliver asks, completely rhetorically.

“Erm, your cock, please.”

“Where do you want that cock, pray tell?”

“Where your finger is,” I say, trying to think of a way to be coy. He likes it when I play a bit coy, for a while. But I’m so horny tonight, it’s hard to think coy thoughts, let alone say them. The stranger is laughing above me.

“Get yourself up and get to work on that cock. Here,” he says to the man, “get on the bed so she can get to work for real.” The stranger kicks off his loafers and mounts the bed beneath the headboard, his eyes shining like coals. I take his cock back in, deep. Oliver is putting two fingers in my ass now, freshly lubed, working it around. I relax my ass around him. The open zipper’s teeth bite deliciously into the tender slopes around my crack. I don’t have to wait long before I finally hear his own fly coming down.

His weight shifts on the mattress and I stick my ass out and up, my back arched, my open mouth stuffed full of cock. I feel Oliver’s prick now poking at the slickened mouth in my backside. He has a big cock, the kind you don’t forget to feel no matter how many times it gets inside you, or how long it stays there. I’ve never stopped feeling that wave of trepidation before it’s in; it washes over me now. Yet I’ve learned to look forward to it, the bliss of being full.

Oliver’s cockhead pushes firmly into the tiny winking mouth, straining it open around it. The little rush of alarm shoots off through me, the nerves crying out before they stop and realize how much they want this. It doesn’t take them long to figure out now. Oh god. It stays there a few moments and I just keep my backdoor passive, let it adjust and be entered. Let Oliver take possession how he pleases.

I let my little muffles of idiotic protest sink around the pole inside my throat, while Oliver’s hands take my hips firmly and he sinks himself, oh so sweet, inside, down to the hilt. It goes so smoothly, he’s lubed up his cock as well. I feel the wool of his trousers against the sliver of bared buttocks. Then he gives my hips a little push forward and lets his cock slide all the way out, my little anus gasping for air.

Please, I moan inside my head, don’t leave me hanging!

He doesn’t. He lets the head pop back in, nice and hard, and then slides all the way back inside. He holds my hips still this time, and slides himself out till just the tip is inside me, and then he thrusts it back in, nice and hard. He starts fucking me for real. He must be hungry tonight. I am too. I start to tighten my sphincter for him, sucking on his cock with the tiny pink mouth every time he slides out, loosening for him as he plunges back in.

I arch myself as severely as I can while still keeping the stranger’s dick inside my mouth. He seems to be enjoying the show, I’m sure he can see everything Oliver is doing to my ass and the thought pleases me. His dick is straining at a bit of an angle, and with Oliver’s hands supporting my hips I put a hand to work playing with his balls. They are nice and sweaty, I’d like to lick the sweat but it’s more important to play with his cock. I let my hand grip the base of his shaft. Most of my consciousness is absorbed by the hard fucking my ass is taking but strangely, it seems to free me up to be a better cocksucker. The warmth at both ends is so satisfying and, even with my snatch empty, I feel so full now, so completely taken.

Oliver fits the palm of his hand against my crotch through the vinyl and I feel the warm press of the metal zipper against my clit. It feels tight and rough, but good, so good now. It brings me close to the edge. I writhe my ass hard back against him. I should worry I might hurt him somehow but I’m past caring, past reason.

He responds by removing his hand. He takes me by the hips and holds me still. His dick pops out. Oh Christ, the emptiness. I want to cry out. But he yanks on the zipper, peels me open all the way to the front, and puts a thumb inside my wet cunt, the pad pushing hard against my g-spot. His dick pushes roughly back inside my ass, splitting me, feeding my ass full of his hard cock. He fucks me roughly now, a finger grinding on my clit, the thumb pressing into my wall.

As my body writhes out of control the stranger pops his dick clear out of my mouth. I still hold it by the base, and now I jerk on it madly, with authority, while Oliver takes possession of my insides and rides me off a cliff, flying into the blackness. Orgasm rips through me, my holes grip and shudder as his cock spurts inside me, my ass so full and wet, so owned by him as his hand knowingly works my snatch. I cry out and moan, a broken chain of obscenities as my face beams beatifically, my hand still working the cock in front of me, and as my come shivers its warm waves through me I feel the first splash of the stranger’s release on my face.

My hand works his dick, eager to have it all.

I feel beautiful, it’s so wrong but in the flush of orgasm, in the euphoria of being handled by these men, I feel better and truer than in all the days of my innocence. My poor tattered innocence.

What has become of it? My inner walls squeeze down on Oliver’s cock, hugging it inside of my bottom, my consolation now for my moral ruin. It feeds me, heals me, but then slowly it is removed.

What has become of me, I ask myself, the voice of conscience distantly echoing, muffled, through the thickets of my mind as my tongue snakes out to sample a delicate splotch of jism just below my lip. A whore on all fours, tricked out in obscene scraps of tight patent clothing. A collared plaything. A cocksucking butt girl.

The men are still for a few moments. Finally the stranger starts to laugh. It’s not an ungenial laugh, though he has a hard face. His dick is soft now, but still shapely in its massiveness. He starts to put it away, for now.

Oliver speaks. “I’m sure you’re a pretty picture now, peach. Let’s not let herself get cleaned off. I think she needs to show herself off now, don’t you?” he says, to who I don’t know.

My stomach revolts at the idea. There are so many people downstairs. Their looks were not friendly when I was turned out in my slave outfit. I do not want to face them now, no. Have I not suffered enough?

Or such, at least, are the words of that distant muffled voice of Conscience, if I had the presence of mind to translate them properly. But my asshole is gaping wide and full of come and lube. My cunt is hot and throbbing, sticky, and now Oliver is straightening me up and closing the zipper against those hot, fucked little orifices of mine.

He studies me carefully for a moment, looking me in the face. I flush furiously, the absurdity of my appearance, my condition, what we’ve just done hitting me like a slam of the door in my face. I don’t know why that still comes over me, I’m so far gone, but still--

But then Oliver smiles diffidently, looks down at my chest and tweaks one of my helpless, exposed nipples. He is not gentle about it. But the shot of pain is welcome, exciting.

Oh help me, I need more.

“Yes, let’s get you downstairs. You’re quite a sight. Quite a sight.” The man now behind me rubs at my vinyl-clad hips encouragingly. He cups my ass. Oliver holds my eyes meaningfully, he smiles and then says, “Alice must decide if you’re to be cleaned off, and if so, how. Let’s let her be the judge.”

This is not a good idea, it would never pass for justice. But I am a slave, and slaves do not have a say in the decisions of their masters.

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